


we're younger than clouds

by thelandofnothing



Series: on the hillside i remember (i am loving losing life) [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Season 8, Season 8 Episode 2 Fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 01:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18561226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelandofnothing/pseuds/thelandofnothing
Summary: before the battle of winterfell, they only have one night together





	we're younger than clouds

**Author's Note:**

> i don't do one shots very often but in honour of the ship sailing...
> 
> here's some fluff that i wished they added to the gendrya scene in ep 2 
> 
> title from slomo - slowdive

He had always been a light sleeper.

 

Living all those years on the run had taught him that it was wiser to sleep with one eye open. There were bandits to worry about, Lannisters and traitorous bastards that sold you to Red Witches.

 

So when he felt Arya shift under the furs he woke as well, hoping that she was not planning on leaving. She had turned to lie on her back, but she had left a considerable distance between them both as if he would burn her if their skin touched. Her skin was pale as snow, and like he had imagined when she bared herself to him the first time, it was smooth to the touch. Her scars that curled around her waist and to her belly frightened him, but he knew deep down that whoever had given them to her were most likely dead by her hand.

 

She was looking blankly at the ceiling, her hands playing with her hair that had grown out since he had seen her as a grubby little girl trying to pass as a boy. Her eyes were what stunned him; they were grey and stormy as he remembered them, but her pupils were darker, harder like she had seen countless horrid things that stole her sleep and they were empty… The little spark of fury that he had once known her to carry as a girl was absent. Laying with her made him forget that any other woman existed; the way she had kissed him senseless and rocked with him so passionately yet so distantly. He knew he loved her, and it was possible that maybe, just maybe she did as well. But he was not stupid, he could feel the wall that she had put up between them and it made the bed feel cold like he was sleeping with a ghost.

 

 

“Hey,” he whispered, and he watched her scrunch her eyes shut as she tensed beside him, “You look disappointed, was I rubbish?”

 

She let out a dry breath of laughter and shook her head.

 

“I'm not disappointed, you were _good._ Some women have horrible first times.”

 

He smiled and rolled onto his side so he faced her, he could feel the warmth radiate off her skin. He longed to explore every inch of her, trail the lines of her scars and know where they came from, what made her into _this_ Arya Stark. The one he did not know.

 

“You said we’ll probably die,” he told her, and she finally looked at him; a hard, relentless gaze, “You think we’re going to die and yet you won’t let me in.”

 

Her brows furrowed together, and he resisted the urge to kiss her again. She had always been all challenge, but he wanted to test her, find out what was holding her back.

 

“Why me?” he asked, the voice that was low and hoarse feared her response, “Did you sleep with me because you want  _me_?”

 

She hesitated and looked him in the eyes and she so close, he could see a spray of freckles that dotted her nose.

 

“Yes.”

 

 _Liar,_ he wanted to say. Instead, he closed his eyes, shook his head and rolled onto his back.

 

“You don’t know me anymore,” She snapped, leaning up and looking down at him. The furs had slipped from her body and exposed her breasts. She made no move to cover herself as she glared at him, “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

 

“Then tell me,” he countered immediately, sitting up and forcing himself into her space. She barely flinched at his movement, remaining stationary as they stared at one another, “I can’t understand if you don’t tell me what happened.”  

 

She stilled and looked at how close their hands were. In response, he slipped his fingers into hers and brought them to his lips. He kissed her hand softly and looked at her through his lashes. Her face was not stoic anymore, she looked over his shoulder like she was remembering something from her past. He brushed his lips over her knuckles and her eyes shot to his.

 

“You’ll wish you never came to Winterfell when you’ve heard what I’ve done.” She said softly.

 

“That’s hard to believe.”

 

“There’s blood on my hands Gendry.” She argued but he shook his head and chuckled.

 

“I killed two Goldcloaks when Davos came for me in King’s Landing and I’ve seen men do much worse.”

 

“That’s a tea party compared to what I have seen.”  

 

He snorted and thought of those three dragonglass daggers she had sunk into that wooden pole. He looked away and recollected the way she twirled the spear he made her so easily, looking at the balance of it with expertise. She had been clumsy with weapons when they had been on the road. No one feared her then. Now when she walked out the forge, he swore he heard some of the smiths saying that would never get on the wrong side of her blade.

 

“Tell me where you went.” He asked again returning his gaze to find her staring absentmindedly at their joined fingers. He expected her to tell him to shut up. He even had a fear that she would rip herself away, put her clothes back on, run from the forge and not come back. But she did not move, only watched as he stroked his thumb against hers. There was a long silence before she spoke again, but he figured he would give her all the time in the world, just so he could see her here.  

 

“Braavos,” she finally answered, her eyes unmoving, “I learned to strip away Arya Stark for a while.”

 

He listened to her as she told him of the Hound and the Red Wedding, and the fight between him and Brienne of Tarth. She told him about the Braavosi coin Jaqen H’Ghar from Harrenhal had given her, and how she ended up in Braavos. And then she told him of the House of Black and White, and how she joined the Faceless Men to become No One. His heart began to pound when she told him she was blind for a time and when she finally decided to become Arya Stark again…

 

“You were looking at my scars,” she observed, looking at him, “When I took my tunic off, your eyes went straight to these.”

 

She padded her fingers on the jagged raised lines on her waist and belly.

 

“I was wondering who gave them to you… And if they were dead already.” He whispered, his own fingers followed hers, and he traced them, gauging her reaction for any signs of discomfort.

 

“A Faceless Man gave them to me… She stabbed me, and I shouldn’t have survived but she’s dead. I made sure of it.”

 

He looked back up at her and cupped her cheek tenderly.

 

“You did what you did to survive, why would I ever judge you for that?” he asked genuinely.

 

“I think I did die… For a time” she whispered and brought a hand to his face, sprawling her fingers over his stubble, “From this night on, you understand parts of me that no one else will and I am still finding the missing parts of myself. But I trust you. I chose you because I trust you. For the first time, I knew what I was doing was righ. You are right for me.”

 

“Arya,” he breathed. Suddenly a current took over him and he urged her onto her back, following her and sliding on top, his elbows on either side of her head.  

 

She pressed her lips against his and she sighed into his mouth. When he pulled away, she shivered.

 

“We’ll live,” he promised her, touching their noses and nuzzling them fondly, “And after the war, we can go anywhere. I’m not leaving ever again.”

 

“Anywhere?”

 

“Anywhere.”

 

For a fleeting moment, she looked hopeful, a beautiful smile on her lips and her eyes glittering.

 

“West,” she finally said watching him carefully.

 

“West?” he asked confused.

 

“Essos is east of Westeros but what’s west of Westeros?” she posed and raised an eyebrow. “That will be for us to find out.”

 

He chuckled and rested his forehead against hers.  

 

“As m’lady commands,” he smiled and kissed her again, covering her body with his. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him love her.

 

He felt finally at home because friend or lover, blacksmith or lady, he was her family and they both had something to live for.


End file.
